


i wanna taste love

by enbyofdionysus



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyofdionysus/pseuds/enbyofdionysus
Summary: The first time Jove saw him was on his lunch break. A young man, no older than Jove’s own son, had taken a seat across from him and was scrolling through his phone while the silver chain of an anchor necklace hung from his teeth. He was beautiful.





	i wanna taste love

The first time Jove saw him was on his lunch break.

At noon every day, Jove would take a seat on a bench by the Christopher Park monuments in Greenwich Village and take out a submarine sandwich from his favorite Italian shop. To silence the work aspect of his mind and to get a fresh start he would watch the birds and pigeons and occasionally people watch.

On one such occasion, when the air of the city had changed from warm and muggy to crisp and cool and the trees in Central Park had brightened to a remarkable golden color, Jove caught sight of something perhaps just as remarkable.

A young man, no older than Jove’s own son, had taken a seat across from him and was scrolling through his phone while the silver chain of an anchor necklace hung from his teeth. Any other time, Jove would have glanced over him – what was another twenty-something kid in Manhattan? But there was something about his face – sharp and fierce like a living dagger – that had Jove’s eyes tripping over themselves; he did at least a triple-take.

The boy was  _beautiful_.

His skin was a soft brown and his eyes – good god, his  _eyes_  – were absinthe and the black locks of his hair cut in front of them like tendrils Jove wanted to wrap around his fingers. He was dressed in black jeans that desperately clung to his thighs and a gray sweatshirt that was artfully covered by a light denim jacket. He looked the way Varvatos smelled.

Jove desperately wanted to speak to him.

Jove desperately wanted to be behind him.

“Excuse me.”

The young man looked up from his android and Jove swore he’d been turned to stone.

“I was wondering,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse, “if I could have your opinion on something.”

The boy’s eyes shifted slightly. First to the left and then back to Jove and then down at Jove’s suit. “Okay,” he said.

“I run a magazine about men’s fashion,” Jove said. It wasn’t a lie. “And we’ve been working on an issue about millennial fashion.” That was a lie. “You obviously have good taste–”

At this, the boy let out a snort-laugh and dropped his eyes for a fraction of a second.

Jove smiled in victory. “So I was wondering if I could ask about some trends that we’ve noticed.”

The young man shrugged, but Jove had his full attention now. His eyes were like hurricanes and Jove was caught in the wind.

“First: Bermuda shorts in pastel colors.”

The boy’s face twisted into a grimace.

“Not a fan?” Jove asked.

“I mean,” the boy said, “pastels are cool. But, personally, Bermuda shorts aren’t for me.” Jove noticed he had a local dialect and filed that information away.

“Fair’s fair,” Jove said. “What about oversized sleeveless shirts?”

The boy frowned a bit as he thought and then shrugged. “It looks okay on some guys, but I would use it mostly for working out. Not for going out.”

“And finally,” Jove said, “high-top sneakers?”

“Oh,” the boy snorted, “that’s not a trend, that’s a classic. Converse is always in fashion.”

Jove smiled. “I thought the same,” he said, although he hadn’t. The boy’s answers had told him everything he needed to know about him: he was from the city; he wasn’t traditionally upper or middle class where Bermuda shorts were the standard for men’s summer fashion; he wasn’t arrogant about his looks; and he had a relaxed personality with an overall groove.

“What did you say your name was?” Jove asked.

“Percy,” the boy said.

“Percy,” Jove repeated and then leaned forward, holding out his hand. “I’m Jove.”

“Jove,” Percy mimicked, grinning as he leaned forward himself and clasped Jove’s hand. His skin tingled. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” Jove said and, while their hands still touched, gave Percy an obvious once over that had the boy’s ears turning red.  _Aha_ , Jove thought.  _Target confirmed_.

“Where do you work, if you don’t mind me asking?” Jove asked. “Wouldn’t want to use information from someone of a rival company, you understand.”

“Oh, right,” said Percy. He placed the hand Jove had shook over his stomach. “Just this tiny candy store called  _Sweet on America_.”

“How fitting.”

Percy gave Jove a knowing look. “It’s my mom’s business.”

“That’s sweet.”

“We try.” Percy leaned back on the bench, his knees opening more. “What about you? You said you work at a men’s fashion magazine. Which one?”

“Jupiter Ltd,” Jove answered.

Percy’s eyebrows rose. “My friend works there.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Jason Grace.”

The name threw Jove off for a moment. So not only was Percy’s his son’s age, but he was also his son’s  _friend_. In the whole of New York City. He paused, licked his lips, and thought for a moment. There was a chance that Jove would take Percy out for a night, fuck him against the back of his condo’s door, and never hear from him again. But, there was also a chance that Jove would take Percy out for a night and then another night and then another. His eyes weren’t something he thought he would ever be able to get out of his head.

The question was: were they worth his son’s contempt?

“Never heard of him,” Jove lied.

“It’s a big company.”

“It is,” Jove agreed. “Big.”

Percy tugged at his lower lip with his fingers.

Jove watched them in jealousy. “Any plans this weekend?”

Percy held his eyes for a second, then another, and another. Jove got the distinct feeling of being challenged and it made sense. His son did not make friends with weak, vulnerable people. This was not a boy for mindless fucks and flirting. He was a storm unto himself. “That depends,” he said and leaned forward a little.  _Oh_. “What do you have in mind?”

 **

Jove was falling and he hated himself for it.

He was not the kind of man to fall in love. Of course, he’d done it twice: first with his wife and then with his boyfriend. But he was renowned for his sexual exploits; he was easy to fuck, but not easy to love.

Percy, he realized, mirrored that. He was as fiery as he was sweet, as dark as he was kind. He was an Ishmael making an Ahab of Jove.

He’d fucked him against the back of his door as he had planned that night, but had also fucked him in the morning on the comforter of his bed with Percy’s thigh in his left palm and his curls fisted in his right.

He’d left a disgustingly vibrant mark on the side of Percy’s neck, but he had also pressed ten dollars into his hand to buy something sweet for himself.

He’d pressed Percy’s face into his mattress and taken what he’d wanted, but he had also held Percy’s face in his hands as the boy buried himself inside him with the lights on.

The boy was a drug in his system making him ill with affection, but Jove would gladly overdose before he admitted he had a problem. A problem whose name was Jason.

It had been weeks and still Jove had yet to mention he was seeing his son’s friend and Percy, he was sure, had yet to mention he was seeing his friend’s father. Because he hadn’t yet mentioned the truth to Percy.

It was a hole he was digging deeper with each passing day. But Jove couldn’t stand the idea of not having Percy’s palms pressed his lips, of not watching those green eyes light up when he walked in the room, of not hearing Percy’s token sarcasm interlaced with sweet nothings.

His feelings for Percy were unfettered in a torrent of uncharted sea. If Jason chose to leave him there without so much as a glance there was no hope of survival.

 **

The shit hit the fan on a cold November afternoon.

Percy was waiting for Jove outside of the office building as he usually did, buried in a crew neck sweater and jacket, his exhales coming out like puffs of smoke as he flicked his thumb across the screen of his phone.

Jove’s face lit up the second he saw him out the window.

And then his heart immediately stopped the second he pushed open the door.

Because standing next to Percy was Jason, dressed in an overly formal coat (because he had birthed a 40-year-old man), with his own nose down at his phone. They were talking about something Jove couldn’t quite hear, but Percy had said something to make Jason laugh, which, in turn, made Percy grin.

Unfortunately, they both noticed him at the same time and as Percy chirped “Jove!” Jason said, matter-of-factly “Dad.”

They looked at each other, confused.

Jove saw death.

Luckily, it all ended with Jason’s horrified grimace and Percy laughing for a good fifteen minutes. Still, Jove’s heart flipped when Percy took his hand.

It was going to be okay.


End file.
